Picture Perfect
by sams1ra
Summary: A series of baby Dean oneshots. Fluff, mostly. Series continues with 'Out of Our Element' and 'Faded Memories of a Picture Perfect'.
1. 1980

Disclaimer: I own neither the Wee!Chesters, nor the Winchesters. I don't own the Impala. I own a train ticket, wanna trade?

A/N: This story is basically a series of oneshots. This plot bunny originally belonged to 'The Ghost of Dean's Past', but took on a life of its own. Mostly baby and Wee!Dean, maybe baby Sammy and Teen!Chesters if you'd like it.

Lawrence, Kansas, 1980

"NOOO! No, no, no, _no_!"

"Dean Winchester, you come right back here!"

"No!"

"Dean! Now!"

"No!"

"You are in big trouble, mister! Just you wait till your Daddy comes home and… Gotcha!" Mary cried, scooping up the struggling two year old. She held him at arm's length, doing her best not to get Dean's sticky hands (and arms, and belly, and face) stain her clothes, as she brought the toddler back to the bathroom. Putting him down, Mary quickly closed the bathroom door and started running the hot water again.

"Oh, you had better stay away from that door, or so help me… DEAN!" but she was already too late. She sighed, huffing and blowing a lock of hair away from her face. She turned the water off, again, and grunted a little as she pushed to her feet. She'd known she'd made a mistake the moment the words 'wash that dirty hair of yours' came out of her mouth.

Dean was a good kid. He was loving, affectionate, full of life and energy, and he was also obedient and quiet when need be. He was polite, inquisitive and smart. But he hated having his hair washed. Period.

He didn't mind taking baths, but when it came to washing his hair… Let's just say it's a good thing John used to be in the Marines.

"Dean, get back here!" Mary cried, looking both ways as she exited the bathroom in search of her son.

"No!" Mary smiled, glad her son didn't quite get the concept of hiding just yet.

"You get in the bathroom right now, or there's no story time tonight!" she threatened. Nothing. Damn, the kid was catching on fast.

Mary's eyes grew wide and she cursed silently. "Dean, not Daddy's recliner! I'll never get these stains out." She ran her hand through her hair. "You're in big trouble, you hear me?"

"No bath!" Dean cried as he jumped from behind the sofa (leaving sticky fingerprints, damn it!) and darted toward the stairs.

"Oh, no you don't!" Mary cried, running after him. Who knew two year olds were so quick? "Dean!" she nearly caught him. Grazed his hand, but he dropped to the floor, shrieking, and got away. "Dean Winchester, you don't get in the bathroom right now and I swear you won't be having ice cream again until you're thirty!" at that, Dean froze. Finally. Stopped in mid-crawl under the kitchen table. Right where the upturned plate of spaghetti stained his diaper red. Perfect.

"More ice cream?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, hell no!" Mary said, planting her hands on her hips. "No more ice cream!"

"No. Bath!" Dean insisted. Mary narrowed her eyes.

"Fine." She said, rolling up her sleeves as she marched to the kitchen. Dean shrieked, crawling deeper under the table, and then turning and running right past his mother, still shrieking.

"Whoa, what is this, Indians raiding on our house?" John asked, scooping his shrieking toddler off the ground. All John needed was to see his son dressed in nothing but his dirty diaper and the remains of his supper, the mess in the kitchen, and the tired look on his wife's face to realize what was going on. He smiled at his wife, holding his squirming son firmly in his hands.

"John," Mary breathed in relief, walking over to her husband and kissing him. "I'll take him." she said, reaching her hands to take Dean, who shrieked, shaking his head vehemently. John smiled.

"I got him." he said.

"He'll get you all dirty." Mary said, and John laughed.

"Can't get much dirtier than this." he said. He was still wearing the clothes he worked with at the shop, and those were never really clean, no matter how many times Mary had washed them. Mary sighed.

"Alright," she said, admitting defeat, "I'll go clean up the mess. Make dinner." She said, kissing her husband again. "Good luck." She added, making John smile again.

"No bath!" Dean added promptly.

"Really?" John asked, readjusting his hold on Dean so he could better look at his son. "You're supposed to say 'hi Daddy, how was your day?'" Dean blinked at his father, studying the older man.

"No bath!" he said at last, making his father laugh.

"No bath." John said, "But I want a kiss and a hug." Dean studied his father a moment longer, trying to determine if he was being fooled, finally decided he wasn't. He hugged his father tightly, giving the older man's stubbled cheek a sticky kiss. John made a face, fighting the instinct to clean his cheek.

"You," he poked Dean's belly, "are a mess." Dean narrowed his eyes.

"No bath."

"You wanna see a magic trick?" Dean's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he nodded. "I bet I can magically know what you had for supper." John said, and Dean cocked his head to the side. "Let's see… you had… spaghetti and meatballs!" John said, and Dean's mouth opened in wonderment. "And… there was a dessert. An apple?" John raised a brow and Dean shook his head.

"No, Daddy." John shifted Dean to his hip, slowly heading for the steps.

"Hmm… Did you have… tomato cookies?" John tried again, and Dean giggled.

"No, Daddy." He said with a shake of his head.

"No." John smiled. "Of course not. Because you had… a pickle!" Dean giggled louder this time, oblivious to his father climbing the stairs and heading for the bathroom.

"Silly Daddy!" Dean laughed, and John couldn't suppress his smile.

"Oh, I know, you had a fire truck!" Dean scrunched up his nose, laughing. John scratched his head, "You ate an entire airplane by yourself for dessert? Didn't even leave me a piece?" he asked, and Dean's laugh was so loud now, loud and rolling and carefree.

"No, Daddy." He said, "Ice cream." John gestured with his head.

"Oooh, ice cream," he drawled, "Well, that would explain why your face is all pink and brown. I didn't want to say anything, I thought you were wearing camouflage." John winked at his son and Dean laughed again. "You want to play a game with your old man?" John asked, and Dean nodded his head enthusiastically. "You wanna play soldiers again?" John suggested.

"Yay!" Dean cried, making John laugh. He put Dean down on the bathroom floor.

"Okay, here's the plan," he said, kneeling next to his son, "but you have to be real quiet about it or the enemy'll find us." John added, lowering his voice. Dean giggled in excitement, nearing his father, bouncing on the balls of his little feet. "I know, why don't I turn the water on, so the noise will make it hard to hear us?" John suggested.

"Me! I wanna!" Dean said, trying to climb into the tub and reach for the tap. John strapped his diaper off, helping the two year old in the tub. Dean turned the water on and John pulled him away, adjusting the water temperature.

"You know," John said in a low voice, looking over his shoulder and then quickly back at Dean, "I think the bathtub is actually gonna be a great place to hide. This can be our base of operations. What do you say, tiger?" John asked, looking over his shoulder again. Dean considered it for a moment before saying,

"Okay, Daddy." John gave a nod of approval.

"But, you know, we're gonna need camouflage. I mean, we can't just be in a bathtub and not be wet, right?" he asked. Dean stared at him for a long moment, and John thanked God he had such a good poker face, or he would've laughed out loud a long time ago. Dean was sharp alright. John could see the toddler suspected foul play. He looked over his shoulder again, thinking hard.

"John? You okay in there?" Mary's voice carried from the kitchen, making John smirk. He quickly turned to his baby boy, sucking a breath of air.

"Quick, they're coming!" John said urgently. Dean's eyes widened. He shrieked, jumping up and down until John caught him, holding him steady so he wouldn't slip. "Last chance, chief, you gotta protect yourself before they get here!" John said. Dean bubbled something incoherent. He did that sometimes, when he got excited – got his words all jumbled up. "You want me to help you?" John asked, making sure, knowing all hell will break loose if he started showering Dean with water and Dean didn't want him to. But Dean nodded, pointing to the water.

John had to suppress a smug smirk and started dosing Dean with water. "You know, I was thinking, what if they're using dogs?" John asked. Dean frowned, flopping down in the tub and looking quizzically at his father.

"Doggy?" and then the boy's face brightened. "Puppy?" John suppressed a groan, cursing inwardly. Dean wanted to get a puppy. Mary refused, saying he was too young, and there was no changing her mind.

"No, big dogs, hounds. You know what hounds do, Dean?" John asked, and Dean shook his head. John rubbed the ice cream off his son's face. "They have a really good sense of smell. They can smell little kids." He said, and at the look on his son's face, quickly added; "And soldiers, too. They bark and that's how the enemy know where you are." Dean's face scrunched up as he tried to process the information and come up with an answer.

"You know what we can do?" John asked, wanting to move this game along. Dean looked up at him. "We should use something to cover up the smell. Something that doesn't smell like little, er, soldiers." He said thoughtfully, putting a finger to his lips. "What can we use? What can we use?" Dean looked around the bathroom, and then his face brightened again. He pointed at the soap.

"Soap!" he announced, "Use soap, Daddy!"

"Brilliant!" John praised, "That's my boy!" he said, and started scrubbing Dean.

"Daddy!" Dean protested angrily as John got the shampoo. John looked innocently at him.

"You don't want them to smell your hair, do you? I mean, this way, they'll think you're a flower and then they'll never find us." He said simply. Dean considered this, then gave a slight, hesitant nod, squeezing his eyes shut.

John was careful to keep the shampoo from coming anywhere near Dean's eyes, knowing how sensitive his boy was. He made a quick work of washing the soap away.

"There," John said, sniffing Dean, and turning the water off, "Now no one can find you." Dean beamed at him. "Stay here, let me see if it's safe." John said, making sure Dean was standing on his little rubber matt so he wouldn't slip and fall in the tub. He made a big show of crawling to the door and peeking out, looking both ways. John let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, pretending to rub sweat off his forehead. "I think they're gone. I think they went away, it's safe to come out now." He said.

Dean reached his little hands for his father, and John wrapped him up in his towel, kissing the top of Dean's head, and then messing it with the towel, toweling him off.

"Come on, tiger, time to get to bed. You want me to read you a story?" John asked. Dean nodded.

"But no bath!" he added quickly.

The End

For now...


	2. 1981

Disclaimer: Alas, I still do not own them. Just trying to pass the time till the next episode.

Lawerence, Kansas, 1981

"Dean, no!" Mary cried sharply, pulling onto the toddler's shirt and yanking him back with more force than she had meant. The startled three year old blinked in shock, before his eyes watered, his expression a mix of insult, indignation and uncertainty. Mary sighed, kneeling next to her little boy.

"Oh, don't cry, baby. Come here." She said, reaching her hands out to her son. Dean hesitated and started to cry, but allowed his mother to hold him. "You know better, what you did was bad. Do you understand?" Mary asked. Dean sniffled.

"But I want ice cream!" he said, "You said ice cream!" he added accusingly, and Mary had to work hard to keep the smile off her face.

"I know, baby." She said. Dean turned his head back, pointed a little finger at the ice cream truck across the street.

"Ice cream." He said, then looked at his mother in that innocent, hopeful look.

"First I need to know you understand what you did was wrong. Do you understand, Dean?" Mary asked patiently. Dean looked at the ice cream truck, then back at his mother. "Dean, you never, _ever_, run to the street like that, do you understand? You never cross the street without an adult." Mary explained. Dean looked sheepish, and for a moment, all Mary wanted to do was squish him and hug him and hold him tight. She couldn't believe her baby was already three years old. The little boy ducked his head, scuffing his shoe, not looking at his mother.

"Can you tell Mommy what's the right way to cross the street?" Mary asked. Dean nodded, long blonde hair hiding his eyes as he looked down again.

"Look both ways, never run, and hold your hand." He said in a small voice.

"That's right," Mary smiled, brushing the hair from Dean's face, "That's my boy." She picked him up in her hands and grunted. "Oh, you're getting heavy. Pretty soon I won't be able to hold you like this." She said, and Dean wrapped his arms around her neck. "Let's go get you that ice cream, okay?" Mary asked, and Dean nodded, his hair tickling his mother's face.

"And then we'll go see Daddy?" Dean asked.

"And then we'll go see Daddy." Mary promised, crossing the street and heading for the ice cream truck.

A small line stretched in front of the ice cream truck. Mary had to keep a very firm hold of Dean's hand to prevent the toddler from taking off and doing something more interesting, like running off with another bored kid, or finding a bug he wanted to take home. She picked Dean in her arms again once they got to the front of the line, so he could choose the flavor he wanted.

"Aw, what a pretty little boy." The ice cream lady cooed.

"I'm a big boy!" Dean frowned, correcting her. "My name's Dean." he said, sticking his thumb in this chest, face beaming. "And this is my Mommy. And we're going to see my Daddy. He used to be a soldier, like in the movies, but now he fixes cars and we're gonna visit him today because preschool ended early because they're repainting our class," Dean took a deep breath and kept on; "I hope they paint it blue and green. Those are my favorite colors."

"Why don't you tell the nice lady what kind of ice cream you want?" Mary suggested, taking advantage of the momentary pause in Dean's speech. Dean nodded enthusiastically.

"I want cookie dough, and vanilla, and chocolate chip, and raspberry, and…"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, tiger." Mary said, "He'll have the cookie dough and the chocolate chip, please." She said, switching Dean over to her hip to better access her purse and pay the vendor.

"Here you go," the ice cream lady said as she gave Dean his ice cream.

"Thank you," Dean said in a sing-song voice, waving at her, "bye!"

Mary put Dean down, telling him not to move as she counted her change and put her money away. She rolled her eyes. Couldn't he stay put for one damn second? He was already talking to some kid, both happily licking their ice cream.

"Dean," Mary called out to him and he rushed towards her, all smiles and happiness. "Dean, I told you to stay here." Mary said. Dean blinked at her.

"But I am here." He said simply. The young mother opened her mouth to reply, but decided against it. There was simply no point in arguing about it. She sighed.

"You know you're not supposed to talk to strangers." She said instead. Dean shrugged.

"I didn't." he said simply. "Kids don't count."

"Dean, you're not supposed to talk to strangers, period. That kid is a stranger, and so was the vendor." Dean frowned.

"But he's just a kid, like me." He said, "And besides, _she_ was not a stranger, she's the ice cream lady!" Dean insisted, daring his mother to argue with his little boy logic. Mary opened her mouth to say something, but seeing Dean, standing there with his hands on his hips, looking up to her as if daring her to say he'd done something wrong – it was just too adorable. She resisted a smile, wishing she had a camera with her.

"Still, you are not allowed to talk to strangers." Mary said patiently, taking hold of Dean's already sticky hand. She cursed inwardly, rummaging through her purse for a tissue. "What else do you do when you see a stranger and Mommy and Daddy aren't there?" Mary asked, kneeling in front of her boy and cleaning his hand and face. Dean licked his ice cream before answering.

"Uh… Not go anywhere with them?" he asked.

"That's right," Mary said, getting to her feet, "You never go with them. Not even if they say they'll give you candy. You just stay where you are, and call for help, understand?" she asked, and the little boy nodded, reaching his little hand for her to take in hers. Mary kissed the top of his head. "Good boy." She said lovingly. "Let's sit so you can eat your ice cream." She added, heading towards a nearby bench. Dean stopped.

"But I wanna go see Daddy." He said, big eyes looking at his mother, and Mary was already starting to dread his teenage years.

"We will," she said placidly, "after you finish your ice cream."

"I can eat and walk." Mary raised a brow.

"No, you can walk and get the ice cream all over your clothes." She said with a smile, "Come on, baby." She said, pulling him along towards the bench. "Give Mommy a bite of your ice cream?" she asked a moment later. Dean shook his head, hair flailing.

"No! Mine." He said, holding it closer to him and staining his shirt. Mary raised a brow. Her boy never had trouble to share before they put him in that preschool. She should check that place out again.

"Okay." She said lightly, "Okay Dean. Come on, sit here and let Mommy clean you up." But Dean stopped, not going over to sit where she had told him. He was looking at his shoes, looking as if someone had run over his puppy. "Dean?" Mary asked, a spike of unease in her gut. The little boy looked up at her, his eyes watering, and for a split second, unease turned to real worry. That is, until the toddler opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Mommy." He said, holding the ice cream out to her, "You can have my ice cream if you want." He added. Mary just wished John was there to see this.

"Aww, you are so sweet!" she exclaimed, "In fact, I think you're sweeter than the ice cream. I _think_ I'm gonna take a little bite outta you!" she said, grabbing her baby and started tickling him. Dean shrieked, laughter rolling and contagious.

Mary let Dean finish his treat and then they both walked over to John's garage, Dean chattering her ears off, but the young mother loved every moment. She just loved seeing and hearing him experiencing things for the first time, getting excited over things she had long forgotten to get excited over.

They greeted Mike, John's partner, when they got to the garage. Mike picked Dean up, letting the little boy sit on his shoulders.

"John's in the back, working on car." Mike said, letting Dean down. "Why don't I go get him for you?" Mike suggested. Mary smiled at him.

"Thank you, Mike." She said, and Dean started bouncing in excitement. Mary couldn't resist smiling this time. The little boy looked up at her.

"We're gonna see Daddy!" he said, making his mother laugh. She tried to stop him before he took off again, but with the extra sugar rush, she never really had a chance. She cried after him, but Dean ignored her, oblivious to the dangers of the garage, and ran in search for his Daddy. The fact that said Daddy was under a '79 Dodge didn't seem to faze the boy, who quickly crawled under the car with his dad.

"What're you doing?" John nearly cracked his head, jumping at the sound of his little boy right next to him.

"Dean, you come right out of there, you hear me?" Mary called out to him. Dean crawled out, covered in dirt and oil. It didn't bother him to jump into his father's arms, giving the older man a hug.

"What are you two doing here so early?" John asked, trying to clean his hands on a dirty rag, Dean clinging to his neck.

"Preschool ended early. They're painting my class. I hope they paint it blue and…"

"We thought we'd surprise you." Mary cut in.

"Are you surprised Daddy? Are you? Are you?" John laughed, kissing the top of Dean's head.

"I thought you could cut work early, come to the park with us." Mary said, and Dean nodded.

"Please Daddy?" he added in earnest. John laughed again.

"We're gonna have problems with him when he hits puberty." He told Mary. Dean frowned.

"I won't hit anyone Daddy. Hitting is bad. I'm a good boy." He said, "Now can we go to the park?" he asked, not really understanding why both his parents started laughing so hard. John and Mary both kissed their little boy.

"Yes, you are a good boy." John said.

"Then can we go to the park? Please Daddy? Please?"

"Yeah, tiger. We can go." John said, turning towards Mike. "Would you mind…?"

"Not a problem." Mike said quickly. "Just bring him back in one piece and fit to work." He added, winking at Mary. Mary feigned a sigh.

"I'll do my best." She said, and Dean started bouncing again, excited.

"We're going to the park!" he said. "See, I told Lucas nothing bad's gonna happen if we color on the wall and not in our coloring book!"

"Dean!"

"What?" the little boy asked innocently, "We tape our pictures to the wall anyway." He shrugged.

The End


	3. 1983

Disclaimer: Still don't own the Winchesters. Or Wee!Chesters. Or the Impala. ::sigh::

Lawrence, Kansas, 1983

"Dean, sweetie, you want to help me feed the baby?" Mary asked. "Dean?" she turned to look at her husband. "Why don't you go check on him?" she suggested.

"You okay here?" John asked and Mary nodded.

"We're fine. Check on Dean." she said.

John walked out of the nursery and into his older son's room. Dean was sitting Indian style on his new, big boy bed, playing quietly with his G.I Joes. John watched him from the doorway for a moment. Dean had four little green soldiers, but only played with three. One was discarded to the side, nearly falling off the bed. The other three were laughing at him, saying he wasn't a good soldier and that they didn't need him anymore.

John sighed, getting in the room and picking up the discarded plastic soldier. He sat next to his son, who ignored him.

"Hey, buddy." John said, but Dean kept pretending he wasn't even there. "What have you got there? You planning on attacking the kitchen again, surround the cookie jar and take all the cookies prisoners again?" John asked with a smile.

It had actually happened about four months earlier. Dean had come to his parents' bedroom early Sunday morning, jumping on the bed and asking his Daddy to come play with him. John didn't even remember what he said, probably something about it being too early and watching cartoons till Mommy and Daddy woke up.

They woke up alright. Twenty minutes later, there was a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. Both John and Mary jumped off the bed, Mary a little slower because of her growing belly, but she was still pretty quick nonetheless. They didn't hear crying, which just scared them all the more.

They parted, Mary rushing over to Dean's new bedroom. He wasn't used to the new house just yet, wasn't all that used to sleeping in a bed, or to the new bathroom.

John rushed downstairs. He found Dean sitting on the kitchen floor, with several of his toy soldiers and the broken shards of the cookie jar all around him. He was munching happily on a chocolate chip cookie, oblivious to the sharp glass around him. When they asked him what he was doing, he shrugged and said his army infiltrated the kitchen and that the cookie jar lost, and now all the cookies were his prisoners. He demonstrated that by quickly shoving another cookie in his mouth.

Dean looked up at his father, and then slapped the toy soldier onto the floor.

"Stupid." He said. "Don't need him anymore, I got a new one." Dean said through clenched teeth. John sighed, picking up the toy.

"No, see, that's where you're wrong. Just because you have a new soldier, it doesn't mean you get rid of the old one." he said, and Dean wouldn't look at him. John put a hand to his chin, making the boy look at him. "No, see, that's just the wrong strategy." He explained, taking the 'new' soldier and putting it right next to the 'old' one. "See, this one, he's new. He doesn't know all about being a soldier just yet, so he needs someone to teach him. And who better to do it than this one?" Dean shrugged. "You know, just because we have Sammy now, it doesn't mean we love you any less. You know that, don't you, Dean?" John pushed. Dean shrugged again, rolling his eyes as the baby started crying.

"Your master is calling." He said petulantly. John sighed, scratching his head.

"I thought you wanted a baby brother." He said. Dean shrugged again.

"Not _that_ one." he said, and then looked up at John. "This one isn't done yet. I don't like him. All he ever does is cry and poop. I don't get why you and Mommy don't just give him back." John smiled at that, scooping Dean into his arms and kissing the top of his mop of blonde hair.

"I know you thought having a little brother would mean having someone to play with," he said, "And Sammy will play with you, it'll just take some time."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don't want a brother for my birthday anymore. I want a puppy." Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. John laughed, hugging him.

"Aw, come on, kiddo, don't say that." He said, "Having a kid brother is cool."

"Is not!" Dean insisted.

"Sure it is. 'Cause you'll be the big brother, and little brothers always look up to their big brothers and want to play with them and do everything they do."

"So do puppies." Dean looked up at his father. "Can we have a puppy instead? Please, Daddy? We could call it Sammy too, if you want." John laughed again.

"I don't think so, kiddo." He said, "Besides, having a little brother has its advantages."

"Like what?" Dean grunted. John raised a brow.

"Hmm… well, I guess when there's a little brother around it means you might be safe from… _The Tickle Monster!_" John cried, growling, and started ticking Dean, who shrieked, squirming in his arms, trying to get away from his father's tickles. John simply adored the sound of Dean's laughter. Couldn't get enough of it. "Yes, I think _The Tickle Monster_ wants to eat!" he said, tickling Dean even harder, making the boy laugh.

"Hey, tell you what," John said after a moment, getting up and walking over to the little desk where Dean was practicing writing his name. He was doing a pretty good job, too. There was a picture there, hidden under the lines of Dean's name and the words Mommy and Daddy, but John was busy looking for something else. "Uh, there it is," he said, finding the little baseball bat he got Dean the day Sammy was born. "How 'bout we go downstairs and I'll teach you to play a little baseball?"

"Really?"

"Sure thing, sport." John said, looking for the baseball. "I bet you'll be really good at it." Dean crawled under his bed, retrieving the lost ball, when Sammy started crying again. Dean hesitated.

"But Sammy's crying." He said.

"It's okay, Mommy's with Sammy. We can still go out and play." John said, picking Dean up. "Ooh, you're getting big." He grunted. "Soon you'll have to pick me up." Dean giggled.

"No, Daddy." John smiled as Dean hugged him.

"No," he said, heading for the stairs. He stopped by the nursery, where Mary was trying to change Sam's diaper.

"You got him?" she asked. John rubbed little circles in Dean's back.

"I got him." he said.

The End


End file.
